Opening Sequence: Eternity…

I hope someday that I will possess the world and I hope when the time is right, I will forget it. Secrets dawn upon the day and turn around the screws and spiral of the night, they keep me tied to a rock, and I can’t find the way to lead me out of the caves of jealousy, beyond all the hatred that is dusted atop the things in my room. It’s a cold, broken fiber that binds the fabric of life together, weak and sacred in an unknown pride. Spiritual darkness claws from above, maps the drawings of body, creates dangerously the constant obligation to fulfill in the islands of discoveries, shakes the places to attach to and detach from, then soon all the troubles toss high in the sided night and its weight crushes the speech beneath. All that washes away in the backwash is the skin of worry, the blood recedes into nothingness, and the soul floats away above the yellow hallucinations that wear the horizon. Then everything shatters windows and tears the drums to kill without shame the prospects that beckons on, “Starters need to come home”. The tables implode into a cut up of wood, the motorbikes arrow across the country and crash into Colca Canyon, they crumble and the riders sink into the aerial defeat, all the things that are coldly bound in the falling out of dealings, in the ripped vocals of vain contacts, start downing the knees breaking the teeth brooding darker looking for meaning but in all the wrong places – around the corners they get tighter, get tighter and bleed the veins dry. Meanwhile in the meantime, I anticipate happiness as if it were homeward-bound. True, that I couldn’t belt the country that death does apart, puts in its pockets and let’s seep through the graveled shoes, but I withstood the pain that cuts the throats, let the wanderers roam alone through the dusky dawn, I illustrated my path and I strolled thru it. When life imitated harm, when I sensed glitters as gold, I walked through the marbled rows, I marched through the impoverished lines, I crusaded through the emptied wastelands, and I paraded in the nakedness of honest settings. Every lipped breath that is drawn to shield me against the uncertainty of time comes from my two eyes and my heartbeat, never mind. I’m punctuated with visions of my hair clothing me as I walk through the terrorized hospitals and schools and I sing a figure absorbing, strips and strings of judgment wrangle in the cluster of thoughts that flock and hover, look up towards the sky, and look away from the trialed road and I will follow the flight of the scattered par avian, reading long lost love letters, and letdowns, life’s greatest hits. I don’t quite know everything so I read and read; for life is my atoll, wherein I’m aided by the letters of the people in lands so distant in feelings still in throes. I’m moved, move with me. Did you this time?

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It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

45 thoughts on “Opening Sequence: Eternity…”

      1. Also, a lot of your comments come into my spam folder. I just realized that today. I hope you didn’t think that I was not answering. 😌


  1. Poet, masterpiece. The whole text. And well you have to know that it is!

    So audacious, Poet, I would have to say that this is a credo (what you believe). Is it?

    Masterpiece, Watt. Concise and expansive. Touched me, held me to the end. Will linger for quite a while with me.


    Rimbaud acknowledging here that we are at this moment both in time and in eternity which is a metaphysical reality from which most people are cut off by the teachings of, for instance, Christian though.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Please, Poet, move away from the good/bad register to which you are attached.

        There is poetic work which is good sometimes and bad sometimes. But this kind of description cannot really be applied to your work which is making sense of stream of consciousness enough to give to others.

        In this you are mor less meaningful in the ordinary context of a human life. More or less clear about your intuitions. More or less with us in the world in which we live. More or less inward, concerned with developments which are only yours.

        This seems to be a credo, a statement of your belief in your own work and I was relieved to read it. Because a gift like yours, if not disciplined, worked on and shaped, can evaporate like a river running into a desert and evaporating there.

        I am astonished at your work; not just the fact of it but that you offer it and work on it because, as poetry, it is in the most experimental reaches of the poetic tradition. And potentially very valuable as insight and aid to our lives for all the emotions and confusions and uncertain perceptions that people have.

        And I am not willing to believe that you do not know the value of this piece not to us alone, but to you. Be honest, yourself, Poet.


        Liked by 1 person

    1. Poet, I have been remiss a bit.

      There is Letters to a Young Poet. Do you know it? A young man began writing to Rainer Maria Rilke and asking for help. Rilke responded. That young man never became a poet but he was generous enough to publish what Rilke had sent him.

      Rilke is, for those who live with him, a far greater poet than Verlaine and Rimbaud and I agree with that.

      The Letters are online – all of them, I think. They are in ordinary prose. Here is an excerpt.

      “Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
      ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

      I realized that I had been remiss in not referring him to you when I re-read this today: It is by Rilke
      and its title is: You see, I want a lot.

      I wanted to get him to you, if you have not heard from him, before your fan club morphs into large numbers because, if you do want to get into his work and you have not yet done so, he benefits from quiet.

      Again, not sure what I know but there it is…………Sarah

      Rainer Maria Rilke

      You see, I want a lot.
      Perhaps I want everything:
      the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
      and the shivering blaze of every step up.
      So many live on and want nothing,
      and are raised to the rank of prince
      by the slippery ease of their light judgments.
      But what you love to see are faces
      that do work and feel thirst.
      You love most of all those who need you
      as they need a crowbar or a hoe.
      You have not grown old, and it is not too late
      to dive into your increasing depths
      where life calmly gives out its own secrets.
      -from Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Robert Bly

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Wow, Sarah! The excerpts of both the poem and prose is amazing. May heaven bless you for suggesting such a perfect writer. Truly truly thank you!!!


  2. I possess my world
    of an imploding void
    A gift to a penny less
    continental drifter
    from the here after
    But I keep forgetting
    to have and to hold
    since everything
    had been repaid that was owed
    An atoll of the soul
    upon words flowing
    Love letters bestowed
    Eternity forever floating
    between the lines never written

    An atoll of the soul

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I was keen to see where you had been
        . . . and where you were leading.
        You always paint a picture most intriguing.
        A reflected spark of inspiration is my way
        of commenting. I actually don’t do it often,
        but I find your writing the rare exception.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Ok, so this feels as if roots and wings coexist harmoniously, and perhaps are in fact necessary as we search for a spiritual existence, while hopefully being aware that we can write our own stories – make our own rules, perceptions, questions and answers, significance… Life holds more than we even need, but what matters is that we approach life with an open mind, curiosity the drive to explore the possibilities, AND the knowledge that while we are alone, we are also interconnected. It is the utilizing our roots, wings and the dimension between them that holds us in a space where we are in the circle, while being the circle, as we seek to find what moves us – to be moved, and to move others. Well, that’s my take anyway.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I was in a used book store. I saw, now, I believe it was a Jack Kerouac book… On the Road? But it was very thick. When I looked inside, there were no paragraphs, it seemed no punctuation, although there might have been… and I couldn’t find chapters. You remind me of this.
    Very neat, indeed!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Dear Watt, beautiful piece. Your words have sparked so many thoughts. Eternity seems to own the landscape no matter where the view is captured. It’s a hollow and hallow place, an enormous abyss, which surrounds us, holds us and keeps us captive. There are no immigrants or refugees, there is no escape from this familiar safe harbor with its riptides that pull us in and under like the arms of an octopus. We must embrace it and own it, for it owns us whether we like it or not. And here I can use my infamous line, “Often there’s a beautiful darkness found in the truth of things”. Please enjoy the rest of your Sunday. ~ Mia

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Your reading is beautiful. And I believe your statements about the beautiful darkness in truth applies everywhere in life. Life runs deep and always spots are left dark to give difference to light. Thank you very much. 😊

      Liked by 1 person

  6. The words you’ve produced tap so many emotions
    and captures essence in all sorts of directions.

    I’m reminded of Jack Kerouac…yet, I sense he in spirit passed on the torch to you and you my friend are creating from your own heart something truly special and magical.

    Liked by 1 person

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